Realms of Difference
by crimsonbelief
Summary: A Story loosely based on 2F2F and One Perfect Day, this is an action adventure to blow your sox off... with a lil "romance", too...


This story involves characters from the Universal Studios movie 2f2f, neither of which I own. Random use of other people's songs, published songs/ literature or recognised cars/ businesses etc. Don't bother suing me because you'll only get a bunch of year 12 home work and some messed up dreams.   
  
Enjoy your read and refer it to your friends - sharing is caring and supposedly good for the SOUL. *winks at penning_fantasy*  
  
^*^  
  
She bent her head as he approached, letting rustled black-brown hair fall over her face in an effort to conceal her identity. Unconsciously, she tugged at her long sleeves, already covering her hands, but it was a nervous fidget she did when she was fearful.  
  
He couldn't see her tonight. Not tonight. She wasn't up to doing his style tonight, not with so much else going on. Not even for the money. Not tonight.  
  
He passed her in a fashion which for her felt like slow motion. A bad memory which delights in taking the mickey out of your self-protection. He headed for the bar and she knew he'd ask for a Cowboy shot, take it down like the man he pictured himself to be and then inquire after her. She slowly rose, head down, tangled hair covering most of her face, turned for the door. It was only ten paces or so away, in and out between a couple of grouped booths and then she'd be 'home free'. If she'd had a home to go to.  
  
She got two paces from the door when a firm grip spun her and slammed her into it. She opened her tighly-squeezed-closed violet eyes and stared into what she expected to be the face of Carter Verone, but it wasn't. No, it was someone much worse. She screamed for the world to hear as he shoved a rag with chloroform over her mouth and pushed her out into the snow towards his car.  
  
^*^  
  
"MONICA!! Get your fuck-worthy ass down here NOW!!" Yelled Verone, turning from his surveillence monitors and the security guard who was manning them this shift.  
  
Monica padded down the stairs, her badly-housed breasts bobbing annoyingly and looking like some poor excuse for tiny water ballons. Her turquoise summer dress flowed and swayed with the movement of her hips and legs, making it appear almost as though she were floating towards the impatient Verone, who waited by the bottom of the case, tapping his Armani-covered foot on the expensive Tasmanian Gum floorboards.  
  
"Darling, what is the matter? You're unusually tense," she purred transparently, running her slender Latina hands down his chest and around his back to rest, squeezing, on his butt.  
  
He pushed her to the wall closest and made a movement as though a kiss, but which was so harsh it felt like he was trying to tear her lips apart with his. It lasted only two or three minutes, in which she had enough time to lean heavily into him, pressing herself to him and touching him in ways he had told her excited him.  
  
He pulled away. "I saw the surveillance footage of you yesterday, sweetheart." He observed her, satisfyingly, attempt to suppress any emotion other than complete lust and desire for his body, continuing to feel his delicacies and leaning closer to him, pulling his hand to her breast and kissing his neck.  
  
He pushed her away again, determined to teach her a lesson not in the ways of exciting him, but obeying him.  
  
"You were with that goon you hired for my little, ahem, exercise-" he paused to...compose himself. "You were teaching him my tricks.  
  
Do you remember the last time we had a discussion on this subject? I told you never to touch another man. I believe it was over this very same man. Do you remember the rat?"  
  
He watched in a sick satisfaction as she tensed again, this time not bothering to hide either her discomfort or her acknowledgement of his meaning. She fluttered her curled black lashes and took on an expression of guilt, even though no amount of reasoning or pleading, she knew, would deter him from his course.  
  
"You will arrange for him to meet you here, as you have done previously, you will lure him to you boudoir, as usual, and you will fuck him better than you've fucked anyone before. I'll take it after that. You can pretend to have a shower or something, and as he attempts to follow you, I'll make sure he never fucks any of my women again. Understood?"  
  
Obediently, like the little bitch she was, Monica nodded her head excessively at him until he tired of it and motioned for her to stop. She knew there'd be more to it than that, but she had no choice. It would be hard to tip him off if Verone had people watching all the time and had her wired through the hemming of her clothing.  
  
"Good. Tomorrow is Saturday. Do it then, arrange and execute," here he chuckled sadistically to himself the way cartoons tend to do, "Don't try anything cute."  
  
Verone repeated his earlier movements with her and took her to his "one-night" ensuite for a little consolation of his ego.  
  
^*^  
  
"Get into the god-damned car, you obnoxious little bitch!" The goon yelled at Abrielle's unconscious body. He'd tried to get her in twice now, but her arms would flop the wrong way or someone would ask him what was wrong and if they could call 911. This time, though, he managed to heft her in and slam the door, if not a little excessively.  
  
He climbed into the driver's seat of the Dodge Viper and huffed loudly as he put it from neutral to first and pulled out of the parking lot to head for the highway that led to Verone's mansion. He didn't know why Verone even slept with this girl - she looked seventeen or eighteen - let alone wanted her to live at his place. Her hair was unkempt and had felt as though it needed a wash three weeks ago; her eye make-up was old and smudged, forming dark crimson and black ellipses around her eyes where she'd rubbed them too often; her fingernails were cracked and she wasn't exactly skinny, but as he'd lifted her into his pride and joy, he'd felt bones that were, in a healthy girl, meant to be covered a little more than that.  
  
In one way he felt guilty, in another, as he pushed the button to put the roof up when he saw approaching rain, he thought that maybe she deserved it.  
  
He sped closer to Verone and his mansion with twisted feelings in his cigarrette-polluted heart. 


End file.
